Baby's Own Story - Part II



Dorothy & Dad 8 Months Old



From the time I was a tiny baby until my brother was born, I have no flashbacks or indications that I was not loved or cared for.  I have no photos of my mother and I but several of my father and I.  I smile when I look at them.

When I started doing trauma work with Ruth I began experiencing facing painful truth...the truth of silence and excuses.  As children we are born and are to be protected and cherished.  Parents aren't perfect but when bad things outweigh the good over a long period of time, two things happen:  the child thinks, "You got me and I'm going to get you," or, in my case, I escaped into another world - I detached. 

My first flashback was of me laying on the floor of the upstairs bathroom.  I see a man above me but cannot see his face.  I am screaming with terror.  It has been difficult because no matter how much I have tried, I cannot see the man's face.  After talking with relatives, I have a suspicion of who the man is but since I cannot see his face, I cannot mention his name other than to say, the man was not my father.  People who abuse babies do so without fear of being "named" ... Often times, though, there are enough signs that family members choose to ignore.  That part makes me want to puke.

In my work in tearing down the curtain of silence, my "left-handed" journal helped me tremendously.  Entry from July 23, 2006:  "Ruth said I am supposed to write with my left hand to develop my emotional side.  When I write with my left hand it isn't nearly as pretty - more juvenile."  I am a very logic thinking person and it's taken a long time to get to where I am now.  It's been one step forward, one step backward ... now, my work to wholeness is less painful and the triggers that cause the destructive behavior towards myself come less often.  I am grateful for that.

Anger ran rampantly on my mother's side of the family.  My mother would tell me stories of how her brothers would break her Christmas present(s) and how sad she felt.  She was the  one who took the beatings when she and her sister would get into trouble.  As a child I remember my uncles talking using every swear word imaginable.  My Uncle Gordon, looked at me when I was there visiting and said, "You've got to be the ugliest kid I've ever seen."  No one said anything.  There was silence.   To cross either of my uncles meant trouble.  There was so much verbal and emotional abuse.  I stuffed the "words" into my subconscious and chose to remember the good things about the farm...the watermelon parties, the harvests, the times of birthdays...  My behavior told the story though...I would go through bouts of anger, I would look in the mirror and see someone ugly...  There was no one to tell me that I was ok.



Roger 2; Dorothy 3

One thing that has always puzzled me is that my mother would tell me that my brother and I were inseparable and like two peas in a pod.  I don't remember my brother much at all.  The only way I knew that I had a brother was looking at pictures.  My mother would also tell me that I was a difficult child (always on the go) and my brother had colic and didn't sleep for three months.  Another incident I wrote about in my journal was of me standing in my crib crying.  A voice says, "Shut up or I will give you something to cry about."  To this day, I hate any kind of confinement.  Riding in the car was horrible...I picked on my brother like my uncle picked on me and that makes me ashamed of myself.  My father dumped some sand under a tree in the backyard for me to dig in.  They would put me out there and I would be gone in a flash.  One story my mother told me was that a lady from the dime store called and asked if I was there.  I'd been at the store and had left my purse there.  The next call came from my Grandmother Maggie saying I was at her house - I'd wandered from home to downtown to Grandmother Maggies - over a mile.  I was 3.

Roger 3, Dorothy 4 

When I think about being 4, my world was that of paper dolls and my doll babies.  I loved it when the new Sears catalog would come and I could use it to make houses (shoe boxes worked great!).  I was a happy little girl and my imagination worked overtime.  We were under a tornado watch one day and my mother called to tell us to go to the basement.  We went to the basement and I excitedly designed a whole new living quarters out of that dank, dirt floored room which included a coal bin.  I was an optimistic little soul always thinking and dreaming.  My mother told me I was bossy.  All I knew was that the world was a great big wonderful place and I wanted to explore every inch of it.  One excursion took me to the Soo Line Railroad yards and I decided to check out where the bums lived in the sand pit.  From there I jumped up on the box cars.  Another excursion took me to the top of Soo Hill.  I found an orange sack and decided to fill it with treasures.  I filled it with rocks, old cigarette packs....junk...when I got to the bottom of Soo Hill (downtown), I saw the best treasure of all.  Down under a grate next to Miller's Grocery was a Dairy Queen dish.  I pulled up the grate and when I went to reach for the dish, I dropped the grate on my foot.  Mrs. Miller heard me crying and carried me home.  No one was there so I took a rag and wrapped it around my toe that had an inch gash down to the bone.  When mother and father got home, I told them about my journey.  They were upset that I had bothered Mrs. Miller.  No one looked at my toe that kept bleeding through the rags.  Do you understand why I began to feel I wasn't worth much?  I laughed about it and told everyone what a big girl I was...I pushed the skin together and took care of my own toe.



Dorothy 6

I was very tiny for my age and flunked kindergarten.  My mother was horrified and embarrassed.  I felt so bad that I made my mommy cry.  I wanted to be a good girl.  She decided to put me in first grade anyway.

I excelled in school and learning came easy.  My teachers called me "sweet" and my music teacher, Mrs. Wells, told me I had a lovely voice.  I was asked to sing for the high school style show to be held in the cafeteria.  I was elated!  My mother promised me cowboy boots if I did a good job.  My song?

IN MY SWEET LITTLE ALICE BLUE GOWN by Joseph McCarthy & Harry Tierney

To this day, there are times when I find myself singing "In my sweet little Alice blue gown, When I first wandered down into town, I was so proud inside, As I felt every eye, And in every shop window I primped passing by."  I got my cowboy boots and everyone at the style show gushed over me telling me how cute I was and how I didn't miss a word."  Why didn't I believe them?  I was six, smart, spunky, a good kid.....a little girl allowed to roam without supervision, a little girl who was rarely hugged...a little girl who didn't hear "I love you." 

For today, this is all I can write because there are tears starting to fall.  This little girl was hungry  -- no wonder I would sing Jesus Loves Me with such gusto!

Today, I hope that you will think about the walls of silence in your own life.  Hug your children and grandchildren....tell them you love them.  Fill their subconsciousness with good stuff.  And, when times get tough and you know you've crossed the line with your kids, talk to them about it and apologize.

Praying for you all...blessings shot your way!